Revenge of the Titan

by Zoe Evans

  Lanie gave me some pointers, because now that she and Marc are kind of together, she considers herself the dating expert. I mean, yeah, I did go out with Bevan a few times, but since that didn’t work out, I guess Lanie wins this one.

  “Okay, well, here are some of the things I’ve learned. Ahem.” She crossed her arms in a very ladylike way, and then gave me her ultimate dating do’s and don’ts list.

  (And now I’ll just sum up the best ones of the bunch here in a LIST, because I heart lists):

  LANIE’S LIST OF DATING DO’S AND DON’TS

  Don’t laugh too hard. Especially when eating. We don’t want food coming out of one’s nose.

  Try to anticipate gentlemanly gestures, i.e., the pulling out of a chair. Otherwise you’re bound to bump into each other when you both go to reach for it, and that would be awkward.

  If you think something unseemly might be stuck on your face (think food, or a booger) don’t try to wipe it away. You’ll just draw more attention to it. Just calmly excuse yourself and go to the ladies’ room. Or unisex bathroom, if that is the situation.

  It still is hilarious to me that I have to follow ANY type of rules with Evan. But I’m glad Lanie is being supportive about all this. It must be even weirder for her that her two friends are going out. Gaaaah! Nervous!

  LATER, POST THE GREAT DATE

  Sittin’ up in my room, going over the details of the night. Thank goodness I had practice earlier, because it got rid of all that adrenaline I’d been storing up. I completely rocked our dance routine for Get Up and Cheer! And everyone could tell I was into it, so it pumped up the rest of the team too. Even Ian and Matt were woohooing at the end of practice, because of all the good vibes going around. Mom kept looking at us with a dorky proud parent smile. I know she has high hopes for us for this competition. We better not mess up!

  I asked Mom if we could hustle home after practice. Thankfully, she agreed to skip one of her nightly errands and said she’d stop in at the pharmacy another time. Yay! So I had more time to primp and mentally prepare myself for my date. I tried to take the same approach to getting ready for this date as I do with getting ready for a cheer competition. First I told myself positive things like, “Everything will be cool, and you will NOT accidentally drop brown-colored food onto Evan’s lap this time.” Then I sat on my bed and channeled a “winning attitude,” which is similar to praying to Ye Olde Cheer Gods, but instead of picturing my usual pom-pom-wearing gods, I tried to conjure up the kind of gods that might help in a dating situation. Which, I don’t know, means maybe they’re wearing fancy outfits and holding boxes of chocolates? Hmm.

  Finally, it was time to primp. Tonight would require a lot less makeup than a cheer competition, but probably the same amount of thought behind it. I wanted a look that said “effort” but not “trying too hard.” So I grabbed a lip gloss that was just a shade darker than what I usually wear, put some mascara on, and swept on the expensive blush that I save only for special occasions. Then I did a cute little messy side braid the way I’ve been seeing them do in the teen magazines and fastened a glittery hair clip. Voilà!

  Of course my favorite part of getting ready was putting on my outfit. I was glad I’d decided what to wear in advance, otherwise I could have spent hours changing my mind. Just as I was spritzing a vanilla body spray, Mom called up from downstairs.

  “Madison!” she yelled. “Evan’s down here!”

  I could hear that her voice wasn’t in the range of her usual octave—which meant that she could tell something was going on. Usually when Evan comes over, she’ll just yell gruffly, “Madison! Evan!” but today I could hear just a little bit of a different tone. Like, “Ooh, Madison has a DATE!” I hope she doesn’t grill me later about this.

  When I got to the landing of the stairs, it was, like, totally out of a movie. Evan was standing down there with his hands in his pockets, looking up at me awkwardly. I could feel his eyes on me as I took each step. My heart was going a million miles a minute I was so nervous. Luckily, Mom had exited the premises for this “lovely” little moment between E and me.

  “You look r-really pretty,” Evan stammered.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to blush. “You look nice too.”

  He’d definitely taken some time to get ready too. His hair actually stood in one direction instead of all over the place—but Evan being Evan, it looked like he might have overdone it in the hair gel department.

  And even though I think his vintage wardrobe (okay, technically it’s hand-me-downs) is cute, I liked that he was wearing a newish-looking button-down shirt and jeans that covered his ankles.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I grabbed my bag and called good-bye to Mom. “Yep.”

  We walked toward the direction of Main Street, making silly small talk like two strangers meeting for the first time, as if we never hung out for hours just surfing the Internet or watching horror-movie marathons.

  “So where are we going?”

  Evan rubbed his hands together nervously. “La Dolce Vita sound good?” he said, like he was hoping I’d approve.

  “Oh, I love that place!” La Dolce Vita was the number one date spot for the kids at school in our hood. It wasn’t fancy-schmancy (read: Beth would never go there), but it wasn’t like a regular pizza place. For example, all pizzas and pastas were served on REAL plates, not paper, and the tables had nice tablecloths instead of that vinyl-checked stuff that for some reason always feels sticky.

  When we got to the restaurant, Evan tried to hold the door open for me, but the handle slipped out of his hands at the last second, and the door slammed into my face.

  “Ow!” I said, cradling my nose.

  Evan looked horrified. “I am SO sorry,” he said, reaching to touch my nose. I ducked away instinctively. “It’s all right,” I assured him, even though I worried that something might have broken.

  When the birds stopped flying around my head, the waitress led us to a cozy-looking booth that was so small we had no choice but to sit next to each other, French-style.

  I could tell Evan was trying hard not to bump my knee. Before the awkward pause in our convo got even worse, the waitress came by and wordlessly plopped some waters and menu on the table.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” said Evan, looking at me worriedly.

  I smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  I did a quick scan of the place to make sure no one we knew from school was there. I wasn’t embarrassed or anything to be with Evan (quite the opposite!), but the last thing I needed was for our date to become front-page news in the Daily Angeles. No thanks.

  “So, what are you in the mood for?” he asked me.

  I quickly looked over the menu, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t change my mind from my usual favorite Italian dish: pasta alla Norma. It’s rigatoni with eggplant and ricotta. Yumminess! I briefly considered linguini with clam sauce but could just see myself grinning unsuspectingly back at Evan with olive oil dripping down my chin. (That would be in violation of Lanie’s Rule #3.) Uh, not hot.

  “I think I’ll go with pasta alla Norma,” I said.

  When the waitress came by and asked what we wanted, Evan blurted out, “She’ll have,” at the same time that I said, “I’ll have,” because I didn’t realize he was planning on ORDERING for me. Old-fashioned much? We finally got through ordering, though, without any further mishaps. And at that point, I was pretty sure we were on a date.

  Thank goodness we were able to move into our usual comfortable conversation by the time the bread basket arrived. I was too nervous to eat my usual “first course” of bread and oil, which I guess wasn’t a bad thing, because the pasta was DE-LISH.

  “So what are you up to this weekend?” he asked between mouthfuls of spaghetti and meatballs.

  I was about to tell him about Katie’s and my plans with Luc, but stopped when I remembered that like everything having to do with Katie, this was something on the DL.

&nbs
p; “Just doing cheer stuff, and heading to Sew What? for some booth supplies,” I lied. I immediately felt horrible as soon as I said it. Lying to Evan was not on my list of favorite things to do. “What about you?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Nothing too exciting,” he said. “I’m helping my family with some spring cleaning. Maybe I’ll hang out with my cousin. Dunno.” He shrugged. “If you were free, we could hang out.”

  I knew I was supposed to work with Lanes on booth stuff Sunday and catch up on a ton of homework. Saturday was out of the question. “Ugh, this weekend really stinks for plans.”

  I could see his face fall a little. “No worries,” he said.

  When dessert came, he did something INCREDIBLE. He reached across the table. “This is pretty,” he said, pointing to the sparkly bangle I was wearing.

  “Thanks.” I rotated my wrist so he could see the rest of it.

  He ran his finger along its edges, and I flinched when he grazed my skin. Then he wrapped his hand around mine. I felt like I was burning a fever, like, a hundred and ten degrees, and wondered if he could tell.

  “Is . . . is this okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, but inside I was like, “OMG! OMG!” I couldn’t wait to tell Lanie about it and thought that this was waaaay better than holding hands while doing research (Lanie and Marc style). But Lanie may not agree.

  The waitress came by and wordlessly dropped off the bill, which Evan swept up before I could do anything about it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Let’s split it. Neither of us is rolling in dough.”

  He shook his head. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been selling SuperBoys like hotcakes. We’re good.”

  “Well, um, thanks,” I said, reeling from what all this meant. Evan and I had TRULY and UNDENIABLY just gone on a date. A real date-y date, like the kind you read about in those old-fashioned books. Which meant that I hadn’t hallucinated all this weirdness between us. He really must feel the same way about me that I do about him!!! Right? HOW INSANE IS THAT?! I mean, it would still be cool if he actually told me out loud that he liked me, so there would be no question about it. But it is still kind of fun, I think, having to wonder just a little bit.

  Now I’m sitting on my bed, replaying the night over and over. I’m wearing my pj’s now, but I haven’t taken the bangle off because it reminds me of how just a little while ago, Evan Andrews was holding MY hand. And it DEFINITELY wasn’t an accident.

  This morning I woke up with the biggest grin on my face. I still wanted to pinch myself to make sure I hadn’t dreamed up the whole date with Evan, but when I looked at the bangle on my wrist (which I was STILL wearing), I knew it had been real. Can someone say BLISSED OUT?

  Still bleary-eyed from sleep, I touched one of the keys on my keyboard to wake up my computer and see if maybe, just maybe, Evan had left me a cute message. Something like, “Had fun last night!” or “Hope you slept well!” but unforch, all I had was a message from Katarina asking, “Madison, what to be wearing for competition? Packing is now.” Talk about being a tad over-prepared.

  I tried not to let the lack of a follow-up note from Evan get me down. I had a big day ahead. A day with Katie and Luc! How bizarre. But also kind of fun! I don’t go to the city that often, so it was kind of a big deal. And to not have to worry about taking public transportation there (read: MAJOR DRAG) was the icing on the cake (though the fact that this meant riding in a car with Ed Datner and Mom made that a slightly icky-tasting icing).

  At least we were driving somewhere where it wasn’t really likely someone from school would see us all together.

  Dressing to meet up with Katie and Luc was only a little less difficult than dressing for my date with Evan. Number one, I had to look “city chic” and number two, well . . . There was no number two. Let’s face it: I didn’t want to look like a dork around Luc. His world probably looks like an Urban Outfitters catalog 24/7.

  One of my purchases from my New York trip fit the bill—a silky button-down empire-waist dress with riding boots that I got near Canal Street.

  I heard the doorbell ring, which meant Mr. D was here.

  “Maaaads! You ready?” Mom called from downstairs.

  “One sec!” I shouted. I quickly called to Lanie to wish me luck with the very strange day I had ahead of me.

  “Sounds like you don’t need it, after last night’s story,” she quipped. When I’d called her last night to tell her about the date, she said her jaw was literally on the floor as I was describing Evan’s hand-holding move. “I just have trouble picturing Evan as a romantic. But hey, I guess you really never know a person!”

  “Believe me, I’m still surprised at how I’M acting around Evan,” I said with a laugh.

  “Hey, Madison!” Mom shouted again. She usually wasn’t a nervous Nellie, but driving into the city wasn’t her favorite. She hated all the traffic. I hoped Mr. D would help calm her nerves a bit, though.

  “Coming!” I shouted back, quickly spraying myself with my fave raspberry spritz.

  “Whoa, Mads. Bust a girl’s eardrums, why don’t ya?” said Lanie.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Later!”

  I took one last look in the mirror and jetted downstairs.

  Once we were in the car, Mr. D started his attempt at Awkward Adult to Kid Conversation.

  “So, Madison. Anything new at school?”

  Uhhhh. If I was answering honestly, I’d be like, “Yeah! My former best friend and I went on a date last night, and also, there’s a super-mean cheerleader who seems like she’s out to get me.” As if. What did he really expect me to say?

  “No, not really,” I answered him.

  “Madison,” said Mom encouragingly. “Tell him about Get Up and Cheer! Or the fair.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “We have a pretty-big-deal competition coming up.”

  “Really?” said Mr. Datner, turning around in his seat to look at me. “The Grizzlies?”

  “It’s a novice competition, but yeah.” It was a little hard for me to hide the frustration in my voice. What did he think, that the Grizzlies couldn’t stand a chance in any competition?

  “They’re gonna be super,” said Mom with a cheery smile. “They amaze me more and more each day.” At least she was sticking up for me. But this, I realized, was the moment for Ye Olde iPod to save the day.

  “You guys mind if I listen to some music?” I said.

  Mom instantly went to the dial of the radio.

  “No, I meant, I’m just gonna zone out for a bit back here.”

  “Oh. Of course, sweetie, go ahead.”

  I listened to the Get Up and Cheer! playlist and reviewed some of the choreography in my head. Man, did we look good in my imagination!

  When we pulled up to the gallery, Mom told me that she and Mr. D were going to make a day of being in the city, and just to call her “whenever.” Score! Even though we didn’t plan on leaving the gallery, I was psyched to have a couple of hours with friends in the city. Ah, the sweet smell of freedom. This was shaping up to be not such a bad weekend. (And by not so bad, I mean, UH-MAZING.)

  The gallery was WAY smaller than I imagined it would be from the pictures. Which meant it wasn’t the best place to be “secretive,” since if you so much as sneezed, the entire room would know. I just crossed my fingers we wouldn’t see anyone we knew. Besides, what were the chances? Of all the places to hang out in the entire city, it would be strange if someone from school just happened to be there too. (Unless they’re one of the art geeks at school, who walk around wearing berets and talking about words that strictly end in “ism.”)

  As soon as you walk into the gallery, there’s a big sign that says “EXIT” in block letters that look like decals someone stuck there. At first I was confused, because I thought it meant maybe I was entering the wrong way. Then I realized that there was a price tag next to it. Of course. This was one of the “art pieces.” Four thousand buckaroos! Whoa. That’s some expensive decal!

  I found Luc
in line by the café, but his back was to me. His hair had grown in where it had been shaved, and he’d dyed the tips of it a deep red. He was wearing a superthin, almost gauzy black T-shirt with a too-small hoodie that had a picture of a bleeding rose and some band name on it. I walked right up to him to make sure it was actually him before I shouted “Hey, Luc” or anything like that. Maybe he has Maddy Radar, because as soon as I got up close, he happened to turn to face me.

  “Hey!” I said. “I thought that was you. I just wasn’t sure. . . .”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I should have warned you guys about my ‘new look.’” He smiled.

  “It’s cool!” I said.

  “Thanks.” He reached out to give me a hug, which I wasn’t expecting. And since I wasn’t expecting it, as he came toward me I instinctively walked backward a step and heard a loud “Ouch!” behind me as I stepped on some lady’s toe.

  “Oops! I’m so sorry,” I said to the woman. She just sneered at me and walked off with her cappuccino. Then, realizing (a little too late) that Luc had gone in for a hug, I went to give him one. But by now it was really awkward, and the timing was all off.

  He laughed but hugged me anyway. “Spazzy much?”

  “That’s actually one of my nicknames. Spazzmadstic Madison. Sorry about that.” I blushed. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but he makes me nervous. Not in a “heart fluttery” kind of way (okay, maybe it was a little like that when I saw him in New York), but just in a “don’t know how to be comfortable around him” kind of way. Maybe because he’s so different from anyone we know in Port Angeles?

  “That’s hilarious,” he said. We had gotten to the front of the line. “You eating anything?”

  “Um . . .” I scanned the chalkboard that listed the specials of the day but decided to go with what I’d read online. “Yeah. I think the Death by Chocolate cake sounds good.”

  “Cool.”

  He placed both our orders with the barista, but thankfully there was no awkward “who should pay” business. Because, of course, this wasn’t a date! I looked around toward the entrance (er, “exit” if you go by the art on the wall) and saw that thankfully, Katie had arrived. She had definitely dressed up for the occasion too. Her outfit was unlike anything she’d wear to school (except the fact that it consisted of some fashion-forward items). She had on shiny black leggings and a long, loose, black-and-white-patterned top plus a sleeveless vest hanging over it and ankle booties. I had trouble imagining Katie Parker standing in front of her closet, worrying about what to wear to meet her friends in the city. But the possibility of that was kind of comforting, I have to admit. She spotted us immediately, her whole face breaking into one of her megawatt smiles. I swear the room got brighter for a moment.